The Mouseling
by WillowDryad
Summary: Things would never be the same. The Lion was dead. Narnia was lost.


THE MOUSELING

**Disclaimer: Aslan and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.**

The night was dark and cold. All of the hideous creatures had gone away with the Witch, but the feel and taste and smell of their evil still remained. The mouseling, creeping up to the Stone Table with his mama and papa and all their many kin, had never been so afraid. He didn't know why they had come or even how they had known to come, but they had.

He struggled to follow the rest of the mice up over the large stones that supported the table and onto its very surface. And there was the Great Lion, the Son of the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea, beaten and bound and shorn. Dead.

Beside him, clinging to each other as they wept, were two girls, two human girls. The mouseling followed the rest of his kin up onto the Lion's cold body, and they began to gnaw the ropes that bound Him, the ropes that bit into His battered flesh and held His mouth closed. At first, the girls tried to shoo them away, but then they began to understand.

"Poor little things," one of them said. "They don't realize he's dead."

When at last the ropes were all gnawed through, the mice scurried away, but the mouseling stayed, hiding himself in the long grass, not wanting to leave, not yet.

The girls cleared away the remains of the gnawed ropes and then, after awhile, they turned away and walked to the eastern edge of the hill. They were still weeping.

The night was long, so long, so dark and so cold, but at last the gray of the sky began turning red and then gold. The mouseling thought he ought to go back to his nest. He had no reason to stay. He would hide in his little burrow until his mama and papa came to look after him. But even then, things would never be the same. The Lion was dead. Narnia was lost.

A big tear rolled down his furry nose. He swiped at it with a tiny paw and then turned toward home.

Before he could even creep into the trees, there was a terrible, thunderous crack, and the Table fell to pieces. The mouseling put his paws over his eyes, hiding himself behind one of the stones that had once supported the Table itself.

When there was silence, he peeped from behind his paws. The two girls stood huddled together, still weeping he was sure, still with their backs turned to what remained of the Table. Were they afraid to look? The mouseling was, but yet— But yet—

He looked into the colors of the rising sun and saw there was something more. Something new. Everything was touched with gold, touched with the reflection of Great Lion's glory. For He was there, alive again, shining and whole, larger and more splendid, His mane more magnificent, His eyes filled with triumphant love. The mouseling crept up to Him, touching His velvet paw with his own small one.

The Great Lion looked down on him, seeing him and loving him. And then He breathed upon the little mouseling, the tiny little mouseling, no bigger than an acorn, and the mouseling breathed in. Fire rushed through him, fire that danced and did not burn. His blood tingled, and he heard a Voice, a deep and wild Voice.

"Awake. Love. Think. Speak. Be a talking Mouse, My own little Mouseling."

And suddenly the Mouseling was. He felt new life rush into him. He was bigger and stronger, and he knew with the Lion's power he could do anything. He need fear nothing. Somehow, and the Mouseling didn't understand how, His willing sacrifice had defeated death, not just for Himself, but for all who came to Him. He was changed from a mouse to a Mouse, able to be all He had always meant him to be, freed from his brutish ignorance, more now than an animal, meant to talk and think and laugh and know. Free to know Him, who He was and how much He loved all His creation, to be one of those mysterious Animals who were just like him and yet now changed into something more.

The Mouseling ran to the Lion and threw his front paws around Him. He could reach only to His leg, not much above His great paw, for he was yet very tiny compared to Him.

"Thank you, Aslan," he squeaked. "Thank you."

The Great Lion leaned down and touched his nose with His own. "Be blessed, My little one. I have conquered."

Eyes bright, the Mouseling waited for the girls to turn and see Him, too.

**Author's Note: A happy and blessed Easter to all of you. Jesus is alive!**


End file.
